


Learn to say the same thing

by glovered



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Hot Tub, Incest, M/M, Mistletoe, single's event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:59:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glovered/pseuds/glovered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the purpose of this weekend is to get to know one another, please wear your name tag at all times. Sam and Dean end up at a single's retreat in the mountains and run into old friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learn to say the same thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sowell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sowell/gifts).



Dean didn’t take the right turn at the fork, and there was no place to turn around on the mountain road. 

"Quit your bitching," he said when Sam spent the next three minutes sullenly watching the trees fly by.

Sam tried for all the world to act like he was not invested in this, saying, "I’m not. I have a book," but his ass was sore from too much sitting, and Dean had drained the last water bottle half an hour ago. The thought of water made him more thirsty, so he conceded and said, "It’ll be ok. Just seriously, turn around when you can."

They were trying to reach Maple Mountain Lodge, which the website described as a small slice of heaven snuggled away into the mountains.

"Bet there are rabid squirrels," Dean said as they finally pulled around onto the correct road, narrow and with snow plowed up against the sides. "Or mountain lions. Every place has its downside. Sure the pictures looked good, but nothing can be that gorgeou— holy smokes."

Sam looked up out the dash. The place was — he would never say this out loud — adorable, a stone building with rounded towers and high windows. It was evening now, so the last rays of sun were shining off the polished red cobblestone drive, and the hotel looked sleepy, smoke curling out of its many chimneys.

"Beats Rufus’s cabin, that’s for sure," Dean said.

"I don’t know. Rufus’s cabin has that basement. There sure are a lot of people here," Sam said as they circled around to the large side parking lot. It was mostly filled with non-mountainy cars.

"Place like this though? So close to Christmas, there are bound to be a ton of couples on a mountain getaway." He gave Sam a dirty grin.

Sam unstrapped and got out of the car, looking up at the cheery glow coming from each hotel window. Floodlights lit up the outside walls, today’s snow shoveled neatly into the flower beds.

"Now this doesn’t look too bad," Dean said, handing him his bag. "Actually, it’s downright welcoming. It’s been a long time since we’ve found a place this nice that had a string of unexplained deaths attached to it."

"Let’s hope it’s just nothing," Sam said.

Because it could be nothing. Two pages in Dad's journal glued together with monster goo had come unstuck last week, revealing an account dated winter '93. Some untimely had deaths at one Maple Mountain Lodge, victims becoming violently ill and then dying within thirty-six hours. 

Now, it was a week till Christmas, and although the account wasn't much to go on, here they were in Vermont. 

Dean kicked at a pile of snow. "Let's go in, I’m freezing my balls off."

"Charming."

"Aw, Sammy, it’s almost Christmas. Where's your holiday spirit?"

"Shut up. You don't even care about that stuff."

Dean shrugged. "But it’s a hell of a good reason for a vacation. Come on, a little R&R will do you good."

 

 

 

Large front doors, hung with piney wreaths, swung open with some effort onto a lobby with a giant front desk and a lounge area off to one side. A long window provided a view of a snowy peak.

The desk guy was wearing a gold-plated name tag that announced him as Blake, and he gave them a cheerful once-over. Sam knew that he should be suspicious — not every efficient hotel staff was Mercury, god of bellhoppery, but some certainly had been — but this guy seemed immediately nice.

Blake clacked away at the computer. "Names, please?"

"Francis," Dean said. "And Schmidt."

"Great." He took the card information on a recent Visa. "Now," he said. "They start setting out breakfast at 8:30, and you won’t want to miss the orientation at 9."

Sam looked around then leaned in fractionally. "Sorry. Orientation?"

Blake’s smile didn’t falter. "Yes. Not everyone looks good that early in the morning, but it looks like you won't have a problem wowing the rest of the group."

"Uh," Sam said.

"Group?" Dean cut in. Which did throw the guy a bit.

"Kris Kringle’s Single’s Mingle," Blake said. "You are here for the single’s event, aren’t you?"

"Single's event?"

"The whole hotel’s been reserved." Blake gave them an apologetic look. "Single minglers only, I'm afraid."

Dean laughed and slapped the desk. "Oh, that group. You know, I totally thought you meant some AA meeting the way you said it. Yeah, we are totally up here for that event."

"Although it’s our first time," Sam said. "Is there anything you can tell us? Any advice for us newbies?"

"Oh, great!" said Blake. "Well as you know, the event is held every year. It’s very festive and low-stress, with get-to-know-you activities and a dance. And this building’s over two hundred years old and very secluded. You’ll never find a more romantic location. Everyone deserves some happiness over the holidays, don’t you think?"

Dean laughed, extra loud. "Ha, yeah, so the building’s old, you say? It defiitely looks like it’s seen a lot. Lots of history here. Ghosts of Christmas past, even. Dark, possibly murderous ghosts?"

"Uh, what?" Blake said gamely, shooting a smile at Sam.

Dean grinned back. "Never seen any of that here?"

"No, can’t say that I have," Blake said.

"Oh. Any...cursed artifacts? That, when handled, yield disastrous results?"

"Nope." Blake was beginning to look more bemused.

"Ok, tell me this, Blake," Dean said, sending a significant look Sam's way. "How many of these events have you worked?"

"Well, I work here over Christmas break. For the past four years, I think? My folks live in the town just down the mountain. But I've never attended the actual event. Not because I'm not single. Because I am," he smiled at Sam, "Single. So you are too, I'm assuming?"

"Uh, yeah," said Sam. It's not like he had to lie about it.

Dean shifted and the single's mingle bag crushed in his hand. Everyone looked at it.

"Great!" Blake said. "Well then, I have your room card right here. Room 207, through that door and up the stone stairs on the right. Watch out, this building’s old and you should hold onto the railing." He passed the key over the counter. "Enjoy your night."

 

 

 

 

The room had two squashy beds with worn, soft sheets, and a deer head nailed over each one that looked downright ominous. Sam slept like the dead and, the next morning, woke to the sound of icicles dripping off the roof onto their windowsill.

He dropped a pillow on Dean’s face on his way to the bathroom. Dean snorted and raised up on one elbow to squint at him, before collapsing back into the warm cocoon of his bed. He always slept heavily when it was snowing outside, and this way he would be awake when Sam got out of the shower.

Sam emerged ten minutes later, got dressed, and then sat at the edge of the one chair to lace up his boots.

Dean swung his legs out from under the covers and looked sleepily at Sam. "You in a hurry to meet some sad, single folk? On our romantic holiday weekend?"

"Shut up, we don’t want to stick out by being late," Sam said tying the laces of one boot into a tight bow. "Undercover 101, keep up."

"How did we end up at a weekend getaway?" Dean wondered. "Just, how? They’re probably gonna notice if we start poking around, like we’re acting weird."

"That’s why we don’t act weird," said Sam. "Come on. Get up, I’m hungry."

Dean took just as long primping as he always did, but when he came out of the bathroom, he was clean-shaven and smelled like something Sam wasn’t familiar with.

Sam smirked. "You dress up for this?"

"Well maybe I did," Dean said.

"Huh."

Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed his jacket. "Maybe I’ll meet some chicks while I’m saving everyone’s asses."

"I'm pretty sure women won't want to hang around if something really is causing gross, protracted deaths," Sam pointed out, but it was true, Dean smelled good, so he walked close behind him.

Ribbons wound around the railing as they headed down the spiral staircase. There was a faint chill to the air, and Sam caught glimpses of a snowy landscape out each small turret window as they passed. A woman in Princess Leia buns was in the lobby, shuffling papers at the front desk. She gave them a big smile when they passed.

"Enjoy complimentary breakfast and orientation," she said. "It'll be off to the sunroom on the left."

The sunroom was long and bright, running the side of the hotel. It was packed full of a couple hundred people, all chatting in groups. Mistletoe clung to each corner and in each doorway, and a huge bow was stuck to the ceiling with little bells dangling down. French doors opened out onto a wide terrace and, beyond that, a forest of snowy trees.

"Whoa," Sam said.

"This place looks like the inside of a present." Dean moved closer to Sam to let two women with paper coffee cups pass them by and Sam caught another hint of Dean’s cologne. "With a whole load of single people," he said. "Poor shmucks."

Sam snorted. "Dean, we’re single people."

"Yeah, I know," said Dean. "But not like that."

"Like how, then?"

Dean gave him an unreadable look, and then his gaze traveled past Sam’s shoulder and he stood up a little straighter.

"Hello, you two," a woman’s voice said. When Sam turned, he saw that the woman was wearing a Santa hat over her strawberry blonde hair. 

Sam could hear the leer when Dean said. "Well, hello to you, too."

She extended a hand. "I’m Cammy. My wife Trish and I run the event every year."

"I’m Sam," Sam said as he shook her hand. "And this is Dean. We’re really excited about this weekend."

"Well, make yourself at home. There’s a station over there with the printed schedule and supplies to make name tags. As the purpose of this weekend is to get to know one another, please wear your name tag at all times."

Dean watched her go, a little mournfully, Sam thought.

"Strike one," Sam said.

Dean ignored him. "So what's the plan, exactly?"

"I'm not sure. Fit in and look out for signs of the illness? Ask questions about past deaths? Or, you know, if anyone drops dead suddenly, that'll be a good indicator as well."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

Dean did Sam’s name in pink, the lettering in curly cues, and shrugged when Sam put the name tag on his shirtfront anyway. Then, the bell rang, and they followed the crowd as everyone filed into a dark room with rows of chairs and a podium at the front.

Once everyone was seated, a woman stepped up to the mic. She leaned in and said, "Welcome, welcome, to the Kris Kringle Single’s Mingle, the singles event for the very open-minded."

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean whispered.

"My name is Trish, and I'm here to welcome all single newbies in the crowd. And of course, hello again to returning participants! We know this weekend is a fun time for everyone, but we sincerely hope you won’t have to come a third time."

There was a smattering of chuckles and the man next to Sam shook his head sadly.

"We hope that you'll take every opportunity to talk to other participants. After all, we're all here to meet new people and form meaningful attachments. Today’s schedule includes a nature hike and picnic lunch in this hotel’s big backyard, Vermont’s beautiful Green Mountains. You may also choose to stay in for a lunch of conversation and fine food. This afternoon brings us an hour-long round of speed dating. And tonight’s themed party is Holiday Balls and Belles, where you come decked out in your tantalizing tinsel."

"Tomorrow’s a full day of activities, but we'll reveal that later! If anyone's tried online dating—" Again, the chuckle that swept through the room. "Well then, you've all taken fun, extensive questionnaires, plumbing the depths of your desires and personality preferences. 

"Here, we have something similar, what we call Dream Quizzes. What do you dream of in a relationship? What does your dream guy or gal look like on paper? We'll use these tests to place you in groups during our speed dating rounds to improve your chances of finding a match, or multiple matches. And at the end of this weekend, we’ll give you the results and a list of who you’re most compatible with. After that, it's up to you!"

"Dude," Dean muttered as the lights came back on and the buzz of conversation resumed. "Remember you used to take these at the library when you were fifteen?"

"Shut up, those were personality tests," said Sam, and passed down the pile of quizzes. "These tests use algorithms that are constantly being improved upon by user experience. Chances are, the results of these tests will actually show you who you'd be good with."

Sam handed Dean a pen and then looked down at the paper in front of him. After writing "Sam Schmidt," his age, and his star sign, he started in on the questions:

How would you describe your hobbies?  
a. Arts, Crafts, & Bricolage  
b. Outdoors & Trips to REI  
c. Reading, Writing, & Photography  
d. Culinary & Foodie

Well, that was easy. He put a slash through B and moved on to the next question.

Which option most closely matches your morning toilette?  
a. Up at the crack of dawn and ready to start my day.  
b. Careful hair coiffing and brush my teeth for a full two minutes.  
c. Slow & surly starter. I'd love for someone to put the coffee pot on for me.  
d. Shower twice a week & out the door in five minutes.

B, definitely B.

There were a bunch of obvious questions and then some that Sam would never answer under normal circumstances. But since the tests would be confidential, he made honest choices, angling his test away when Dean tried to sneak a look. 

Which do you look for in your soulmate?  
a. They bring me breakfast  
b. They love their job  
c. They get along with my parents  
d. They offer to drive

Sam thought about that for a full minute before he skipped it. He'd come back to it later. He glanced over at Dean's and saw that under How would you describe your past relationship style? Dean had chosen Love em and leave em. Sam rolled his eyes.

When he was on the second to last of the questions - How experimental were you in college? - Trish spoke into the mic.

"Take all the time you need, but when you're done, pass them to the left."

Sam circled the last two points and passed his paper down. He wanted to double-check his answers but reminded himself that the results didn't actually matter, he wasn’t here hoping to find out who he should spend the rest of his life with.

"Well, looks like that’s it," said Trish. "Now go on out there and have some breakfast. Get ready for the nature hike or relax until lunch. You’re single, so you best be prepared to mingle. Any questions can be directed to the people wearing the Santa hats."

As the crowd stood and made their way out the double doors back into the sunroom, Dean leaned in to say, "This is so weird. But cool. Strangely cool. Oh look," He pointed. "Free food."

The long tables were now loaded buffet-style with eggs and avocado slices and toast. Dean split off in that direction as Sam made a beeline for the drinks table. He got himself and Dean cups of coffee just as Blake the hotel guy came to put a basket of muffins on the table next to the sugar.

His eyes squinted up in a smile when he saw Sam. "Oh, hi again."

Sam gave him a wave. "Hey."

Blake’s eyes traveled down to Sam’s chest. "Nice nametag. Are you an artist or something?" 

"Thanks, uh," Sam nodded across the room at Dean. "He made it for me."

"Right, right. You having a good time yet?"

"You know, I’m looking forward to the hike." As he said it, Sam realized it was true. The atmosphere here was really low-stress, and if this whole possible case ended up being a false alarm, he thought maybe they could spend the rest of the weekend just hanging out. "How is it?"

Blake grinned. "It’s more a half hour walk on a very well-maintained path. But it’s beautiful." He took in Sam’s very no-nonsense boots. "You like snow?"

Sam shrugged. "Not especially."

Blake smiled big again. "Oh well, maybe you'll like the muffins."

Sam took one and bit into it. It broke apart easily to reveal it was still warm from the oven.

"Oh my god," he said through the mouthful. "Did you make these?"

Blake laughed. "You think I can bake? I'm in a doctoral program, man. I’ve lived on ramen and alcohol for the past four years. No, the servers made them special, though, so I’ll pass the sentiment along."

As Blake walked away, a woman stepped up to take his place at the table. She had short, dark hair and took a muffin with a purpose.

Sam paused before he realized that yes, it actually was who it looked like. "Jody?"

Jody turned. "Oh, hey!" She looked as surprised as Sam was, but her smile was somewhat strained. "What are you doing here? At this expensive weekend in the middle of nowhere?"

"It’s good to see you, too." Sam took in her jeans and sweater. "You look...wow, you look great. I’m guessing you’re attending the event?"

Jody looked down at herself like she was seeing her civilian clothes for the first time.

"Not in your cop getup," Sam clarified.

"Shh, I’m keeping that on the down low."

"You mean, keeping it on the 10-94?" Dean asked, coming up behind them. "Hi, Jody."

"As I am not a cop, I have no idea what that means," Jody said with a wink. "But FYI? You just used the police code for drag racing."

"Oh, that’s why I know it," Dean said.

"No really, boys. What’s going on? I highly doubt you came here to meet someone."

"Why not?" 

She gave them a look that encompassed everything about them as people. Sam had to agree.

"We’re on a case," he said.

Dean continued, "Our dad kept records of every big bad he hunted, a journal. He wrote about some unexplained deaths at this hotel around Christmas twenty years ago."

"Ok," said Jody. "What does that have to do with nowadays? And with a bunch of people looking for their soulmates?"

"We don't know what the connection is, but it's been happening every year, seeming illnesses that crop up out of nowhere."

"What do you think it is?"

"Maybe a ghost?" Dean said. "Or a curse. Or a serial killer. It could be anything, really."

"All we know is," said Sam. "Sometimes people die."

Jody’s face had gone from imminently-crushed, to unimpressed. "Sometimes people die," she repeated.

"Uh, yes."

"And it could be anything, is what you’re saying. Or, in fact, nothing but a string of coincidences."

"When you put it that way, it does sound very tenuous," Dean conceded.

"Yeah," she said. "Ok, look. I'm happy you boys are here. I am. It's good to see you're still, well, alive."

"Hey, you too," said Sam.

"And I appreciate the gravity of unexplained deaths. But you don't have a solid case, and I'm here as a single lady first and foremost. And I'm on vacation. For the first time in three years. I don't want any part in your possible murders case unless you actually need it. In fact, the whole thing sounds like a load of phooey if you ask me."

Dean opened his mouth but Sam stepped on his foot and said, "Ok, makes sense. We won't bother you."

Dean crossed his heart. "Yeah. No cockblocking, scout’s honor."

Jody patted his arm. "You boys are sweet. But I don't think you understand. Any guys see you talking to me? They won't come over."

Sam frowned. "Why not? We’re friendly."

She gave him a reproving look. "You're like, eight-foot-seven eye candy, so anyone looking at you would assume the only reason you're single is something dangerous. You either make it obvious you're not interested or you’re not going on that nature hike. You get me?"

"Wait, by act not interested, you mean—"

"We'll back off," Sam said.

"Now shoo," she said.

"Are these guys causing you trouble?" 

Sam turned. Behind him, a guy in a server’s uniform who looked very familiar was replacing the coffee carafe. He had a towel slung over one shoulder and an apron.

Dean did a double take. "What the hell?"

"You’re a Ghostfacer," said Sam, blinking. "Ed, right?"

Ed froze as he recognized them. "Holy—"

"Whoa, long time no see," said Dean, and reached across the table to clamp a hand on Ed's shoulder, effectively holding him there. "What are you doing here?"

"Please. ‘Fred,’" he said, ducking away. He tapped his staff badge. "I work at this establishment. And it's my duty to protect its patrons, like this lady."

"All right, Fred," Dean said. "This lady here? Her name is Jody Mills. And she kicks ass. She can take care of herself, but I applaud your chivalry."

Jody smiled. "Ok, you two. All this posturing is very cute, but first of all, Fred, you seem very nice but the help is not needed. And Dean, don’t ever deprive me of a man slave."

"Sorry, ma'am," Ed said.

"So you work here?" Sam asked.

"I'm actually here undercover, on a case."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Ed smirked and adjusted his glasses. "Wow, someone's not on top of their game. Yearly, unexplained deaths? Small town locals? Dark woods and a hotel in the middle of the dark woods? Guess you didn’t get the memo. But don't worry, we're on it. Where there’s ghosts, there’s—"

"—Ghostfacers," Dean finished. "Yeah, your stupid song was stuck in my head for weeks."

"It was," Sam confirmed.

"And we’re going to crack this case," continued Dean. "So you two can just run along home."

"And it’s probably not even ghosts, just so you know," Sam told him.

Jody, who had been watching the whole exchange with raised eyebrows, said, "So how do you know each other?"

"They’re these kids from Texas," Sam said. "They've got a TV show and they hang out in haunted houses trying to film ghosts."

"They?"

"Yeah, Fred. Where’s your little partner?"

"You'll probably see him around. Or wait— you won't, because he's in disguise. And you'll probably be too busy hitting on women to see the bigger picture. Also I’m not that young, I’m in my late twenties."

"Well, I’ll leave you boys to it," Jody said, glancing over her shoulder. "They’re getting the groups together for morning activity."

"It was a pleasure meeting you, ma’am," said Ed. He picked up an empty milk pitcher, then nodded. "Sam, Dean, I'll see you never. Forget this conversation ever happened." He faded into the crowd.

"Good grief," said Dean. "Ghostfacers. Looks like this case got a lot less legit."

"Or more," Sam said as they walked to join the group. 

Once the guides had handed out packed lunches, the fifty or so hikers walked out the back door to the trailhead. A dude in a white vest and a Santa hat was walking around, getting people into smaller circles.

Sam recognized that face immediately. "Head's up, it's another one," he leaned in to tell Dean. 

Harry Spangler approached them, his eyes widening in recognition. 

"We said hey to your buddy Ed," Dean said as Harry reached them.

"What are you foolios doing here?"

"Ok..." he looked at Harry's name tag. "Larry. Quick version? There’s a case. And we’re going to solve it."

"Well, looks like you've got company, because that's what we're here for, too. Now if you’ll excuse me. I have a tour to run." He turned and shouted, "So, we’re going to do some introductions!"

Their group shuffled into a circle and people introduced themselves one by one. When it was his turn, Sam gave a small wave. "Well, my name is Sam. I, uh," he said, and drew a complete blank. After a second or two of trying to think of anything real-life appropriate, he finished with, "I like books," and turned to Dean.

Dean raised both of his eyebrows incredulously, then said, "I’m Dean," and sent a winning smile circlewards. "I work mostly with boats. Boat tours, boats in bottles, pirate ships. I love the sun and the sea. You know, really I’m a seaman at heart. I admit I have a weakness for a good sense of humor, and a nice smile will always catch my eye."

Jody, ten people away and not looking at them, introduced herself as, "Jody. I’m a people person. I like politics and believe in small government. I value honesty, strength of character, and good home cooking."

"And I’m Larry," Harry finished. "I’ll be your tour guide for today. I’m here to point out some of the flora and fauna of the area and to introduce you to the eerie legends surrounding these scenic landscapes. This forest has eyes, as they say. Now, to begin, up ahead you’ll see some trees—"

"‘I like books,’" Dean mimicked as they began to slowly walk down the white trail. "And that’s a direct quote."

"Shut up."

"No one is going to go for a dude who had only that to say for himself."

"I froze," Sam said. "And I don’t care if anyone’s interested in me."

"You really don’t have a sexually active bone in your body, do you?" Dean asked. "Oh wait, I’ve heard you in the shower."

"Oh, so you listen?" said Sam.

Dean rolled his eyes. And as if the universe were continuously conspiring to prove Dean wrong — and as Sam had witnessed, it often did — a woman caught up with them and fell into step next to Sam.

"Hey there, Sam," she said. "I’m Terri. I saw you in the sunroom this morning pouring out two cups of coffee and I thought, well there’s a guy who looks like he’d make good conversation. And then you said you liked books."

"Hi, Terri," said Sam. "I do like books."

Sam smirked over her head at Dean, and then proceeded to have an interesting discussion about Melville.

They walked for a quarter of an hour. The air was brisk and Sam felt fully awake, fingers cold and breath visible in front of him. Now and then he looked over to see Dean in serious conversation with a bald dude. Dean laughed, which made Sam smile to himself. Maybe this trip was good for them both.

Although Harry was still spewing off dubious facts as they hiked, Sam had to admit, the guy was good at playing the part. No one questioned his legitimacy, except for the guy Dean was talking to, who grumbled mutinously under his breath, "All this is is a bunch of snow-covered Christmas trees. Where's the mountain lions?"

"Amen," Dean said. "Nature is often disappointing and boring."

Probably as Dean had intended, this reached the front of the group. Harry turned to look at him.

"Excuse you, sir," he said. "That is blatantly untrue. Nature is a frightening and badass place, steeped in history." He waved widely off the path and said, "For instance, I’d like to call your attention to that big ugly tree over there. It is said to be cursed. Beware of crossing over the exposed roots if you do not wish to die an earthy death. And please now direct your attention to the right, to that one over there, the one with the hole in it— That tree once provided shade for George Washington himself, first president of this fine nation."

"Ok," the man said, perking up. "That is interesting. And what kind of tree is the one we’re passing?"

"Uh, a—" Harry paused, obviously searching for a name. "A spruce tree. Yeah."

"Oh! Right! I thought spruce were deciduous," he said. "Hm, guess I was wrong."

Over to the left, came a violent rustling noise.

"What was that?" someone shouted.

"Larry!" a man said.

Harry turned. "What was what?"

Another woman pointed. "Something. In the trees over there."

"Calm down, everyone," Harry said. "The wind often blows through this forest."

There came another rustling and Harry looked wildly around into the trees.

"Is it a wolf?" a man asked. "Are there wolves?"

"Anything that might be in this woods will have been scared off by the infernal racket of this group," said Dean’s friend.

"He’s right," Jody said. "No animal, no matter how big, would attack a group this large, and we’re just out of sight of the hotel. Everything is fine, people."

Sam caught her eye and she nodded.

The group kept on walking, but there was an unsettled quality to the conversation. People stuck close together and whispered in low voices. Group panic was catching, Sam knew, and forests made noise, be it wind or birds or falling branches.

It was obviously nothing. But three minutes later, Sam caught the shape of an unmistakable something out of the corner of his eye. He stopped Dean with a hand on the chest. 

"Dude," Dean said.

Tipping his head, Sam looked around. "I think there is something out there."

Dean stopped completely in his tracks. The rest of the people behind them shuffled past so that he and Sam were at the back of the group.

Dean scanned the trees. "Is it a monster of some sort? How does a monster fit into the picture?"

"I don’t know. But I definitely saw a shape. And it looked big."

Sam didn’t want to pull a gun in front of people but he had his hand hovering at the back of his pants, ready to pull it out if need be.

There was a violent crash from the forest and five people screamed. A flash of some large dark thing was visible before it was gone again.

Dean took off into the woods.

"Everyone stay together and stay on the path!" Sam said to the group, and ran after him.

Ran slowly after him, because there was a lot of snow, and also the ground was at an incline that was imperceptible to the human eye but definitely there. 

When he reached where Dean had stopped, Sam slowed to a quiet walk. He felt for his gun again, watching as Dean crept around two close-grown trees, both of them just out of sight of the group.

A soft swoosh of something moving through the snow was the only warning they got before a shape — gigantic, monstrous — jumped from behind the rock—

And leapt straight by them.

They watched, breathing out a sigh of relief as the animal disappeared. 

Dean roared back to the group, "It's all fine. Everybody calm your shit."

"It was an elk," Sam yelled. "Don’t worry, it’s all safe."

They tramped out of the trees again, Sam somewhat embarrassed. "Sorry," he said. "Sorry, overreaction, it’s all good."

Harry took over, thankfully. "Yes, we have now encountered a very large elk. Who knew they were so frightening? Do not anger them."

"So much for blending in," Dean muttered as the group moved on.

Many people approached them on the walk back. As the fifth man came and shook Sam's hand to congratulate him on his bravery, they rounded the curve of the path that would bring them into sight of the hotel.

"We did good, team," Harry said, and everyone clapped. The danger had espoused a general feeling of camaraderie, and there were even a few couples holding hands now as they approached the hotel from the woods.

A wailing became audible.

"Is that a siren?" someone asked.

It was, they realized moments later, and it belonged to the ambulance that was parked in front of the main doors.

 

 

Cammy and Trish gathered everyone in the main room to inform them that them that one Cindy Hansen from New Hampshire had fallen ill.

"She appears to have something approaching the flu, and was probably sick before she got here," Cammy said. "But if anyone else feels badly, contact us and we’ll arrange a ride to the hospital."

"Sorry to scare you, folks," said Trish. "The event will go on as scheduled. In the meantime, of course, we’ll all be sending Cindy our well-wishes."

As they all filed out of the room, Dean said, "You think it’s something?"

Sam wasn’t sure. "Maybe. Remember what Dad wrote? Sick and then dead?"

"They seemed to think it was a bad case of the flu."

"Yeah but an ambulance? If it was bad enough that she needed to rush to the hospital, I’d say we keep an eye out. That sounds pretty serious."

"Well if you're that worried about it, let's talk to the manager."

"No," said Sam. Because suddenly he had the perfect idea. "The speed dating."

Dean pursed his lips. "Now's not exactly the time to think with your You-Know-Who, Sam." 

"No, Dean," Sam said. Ever since Dean had read Harry Potter— "What I’m saying is, speed dating is the perfect time to question everyone who was here when she got sick."

"Good thinking, Sammy. What better way to interview witnesses? Now are there drinks at this thing, or what?"

 

 

 

Wine and beer were provided, which was a great way to raise spirits after the news about Cindy. 

Sam sat at one of the many tiny tables set up in the sunroom for speed dating and sipped an IPA. He hadn’t felt self-conscious all morning but now that he looked back on it, the chill morning activities were obviously a way to lull people into feeling less stressed and it had worked. Now, though, sitting here in his flannel and a gun tucked into the back of his pants, he felt rough and uncultured, like he possibly wasn’t decent for public interaction.

He looked up as a woman with a blonde bob sat down at his table. She smirked at him while Cammy read out the rules over the mic.

"Speed dating will last an hour," she said. "We reviewed the Dream Quizzes, and you’ve been set up in groups of people who you’re most compatible with. Speed dating is simple. You’ll sit and introduce yourselves and chat until the bell rings. We recommend questions about interests and future aspirations. Two minutes a date, so make it count. Here’s the bell. Happy dating!"

The woman in front of Sam was still smirking as the bell rang.

"Hi, I’m Sam," Sam said, then paused. "Is this one of those situations where I have something on my face and no one’s going to tell me?"

"No. Your face is fine. It’s just, the way you and that guy are together, I’d think you were already involved."

"Oh," said Sam. He darted a look over at Dean, who looked comfortable with an arm slung over the back of his chair, and then leaned forward to say, "I thought this was supposed to be a single’s event for the very open minded. "

"Touche," she said, and moved on. "So, I’ve never done speed dating before, but I think we’re already down half a minute. What do you do, Sam?"

"I’m a librarian. You?"

"Oh, a librarian! That’s great. I do accounting for a non-profit."

Sam nodded until he realized she was looking at him, waiting for another question. This was way easier when he had his FBI badge in hand.

"So uh, are you from around here?" he asked.

The bell rang and the woman stood. "Good luck with that," she said, indicating Dean was the ‘that’ with a nod of her head.

As he watched her go, Sam realized he had completely failed to ask anything about Cindy or the case. He prepared himself for the next conversation.

"Hey, are you ok?" asked the next woman as she took her seat in front of him.

"Fine," Sam said, with a sad smile. "I’m fine. You? How are you?"

"I’m fine," she said, a look of sympathy crossing her face. "You sure?"

Sam gave it a second, and then said, "Well, no, that would be a lie."

"I'm sorry. What's wrong?"

"I'm just so worried about Cindy. The woman who got sick. It sounds really bad. Were you here when it happened?"

"Yes. Poor Cindy. I don’t think it was just any flu."

Sam leaned forward, trying to hold back some of his obvious interest. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I think it was the pomegranate walnut soup they served for lunch," she said, then whispered, "It was disgusting. But she ate a whole bowl."

"I see." Sam sat back.

The buzzer rang then, and Sam stood and shook her hand. The rotation brought a woman with a great smile and an interesting pin.

"What’s that for?" he asked.

"It’s a BDSM badge. I take it you’re not in the scene?"

"No," Sam said. "But I do like knives."

"Tell me more."

When Sam asked the next three guys and two girls who sat in front of him about Cindy, they’d all either been on the hike or didn’t know who Cindy was. The conversations were nice, though, and the pace quick. It all felt much less awkward than that one real date he’d gone on — Sarah Blake years ago, with an incomprehensible wine list and a girl with a great laugh. Now though, he was at a different point in his life, not looking to impress anyone. He ended up having a really good time, all things considered.

After the seventh woman introduced herself, Sam cut right to the chase.

"Did you see Cindy this morning?"

"Yes, I was. And she was fine then. Better than fine!"

"What do you mean?"

"She was talking with a really nice guy who she was sitting next to in orientation. I have to admit, I was jealous that someone was hitting it off so early in the weekend. They even kissed." 

"Really?"

"Yeah." She gave him a wary look. "You’re the gossipy type, aren’t you?"

"Maybe," said Sam. "Did you see who Cindy kissed?"

The woman looked mildly put off, but answered anyway. "Yeah. It was that Jeff guy."

"Jeff?"

"Yeah, the one with the sexy fashion mullet. He’s not in our speed dating group, but he’s over—" She turned in her chair and looked around the room, then pointed. "He’s over there. Blue shirt."

Sam saw who she was pointing at. The man was tan and kind of dorky looking, and currently at a table with Jody Mills.

"I see," he said as the bell rang.

"Good date," she said, sounding unimpressed, and moved on. 

Dean came to take her place. "I guess I’m taking you on that date after all," he said as he sat, waggling his eyebrows.

Sam ignored him and leaned in to tell Dean what he’d found out.

"So," Dean said. "Basically Cindy wasn’t sick at all this morning. So mysterious supernatural illness is still a possibility. Also, she was kissing Jeff before she dropped."

"So maybe he’s involved somehow," Sam agreed. "I mean, it’s nothing conclusive, but it’s something."

"Well, good work, Sammy. Looks like we’ll have to keep an eye on him."

The last bell rang, and they stood to go.

 

 

 

After speed dating, they had a couple free hours. Sam convinced Dean to join the casual group of twenty or so singles playing boardgames in the lounge.

"It’ll be fun," Sam said.

"That’s your best argument?"

"I love Scrabble," Sam told him. "And I’m sure a bunch of people will be gossiping about Cindy as they play. It’s as good a place as any to eavesdrop."

"Fine."

They learned nothing from playing Scrabble. They spent the whole time grimacing at bad pickup lines they overheard in conversation at other tables, and Sam won by three hundred points because Dean kept opting to play words like "ASS" and "SUCK" instead of big-pointers. The only notable move he made was "BROTHER" but Sam was already far in the lead and Dean had to admit that Sam owned at Scrabble.

"We already knew this," Dean groused as they got ready for the night’s dinner plus dance extravaganza. "Besides, it’s not really something to be proud of."

"I’m good at everything else too, though," Sam said.

Dean had no answer for this and pretended to be absorbed in knotting his tie.

"Yeah, you’re so good at everything, you come do this for me," Dean said.

"Lazy," Sam told him, but stopped buttoning his own white shirt to come do it up anyway.

 

 

 

Sam was glad they’d made some efforts to dress nicely, because the singles were dressed to the nines and set on impressing each other. The big room was lit low with a buffet to one side and the floor cleared for dancing in the center. A giant sign announced that there would be a dance activity much like the dates earlier, but in a more romantic setting.

"Speed slow-dancing?" Sam said, as they finished dinner. "Really?"

Dean flicked him a dance card. "You said you wanted to fit in."

Sam looked down to a dance card with all ten spots filled. "The hell?"

"And that’s just your first." Dean, who was much better at getting the lay of the land and sizing up the social hierarchy and rules in any given situation, pulled out his own full card and said, "There’s a couple overflow cards for you already started."

Sam was grudgingly impressed. "I haven’t even talked to most of these people," he said, smiling politely at a woman across from him at the table.

Dean’s smile looked beautiful, the low light of the candles shining off of his straight teeth and combed hair, his strong hands delicate as he dipped a french fry in dijon mustard.

"That’s what dance cards are for," he said, unaware how Sam was imagining undoing the knot of the tie he’d spent over a minute perfecting, wasting all that hard work. "No one has to approach anyone directly. Sucks for them, though. This way they don’t know what they’re getting into."

"Since when have you even seen me dance?" Sam said. 

"I can just tell, dude. It doesn’t matter if you have two left feet or not, yours are just huge."

Sam shrugged and sipped his drink.

"Oh-ho!" Dean crowed. "So you think you are a good dancer."

"No, never said that."

"But you look like you think you’ll prove me wrong." He raised an eyebrow. "We’ll see."

Sam didn’t respond and Dean’s next comment was headed off when a woman’s voice said, "Excuse me, Sam?"

Sam turned to see Terri, the woman he’d been talking to on the hike. She shrugged and said, "Ready for that dance?" then gave Dean a look. "Get in line, sailor."

It was like ninth grade slow dancing all over again. But they mainly talked about the rampaging elk that had nearly killed them all. Sam was somewhat worried when she said that everyone knew his name now.

"Small group like this, you become a celebrity, fast," she said.

Terri had a good sense of humor and a smile that was somewhat sardonic. And when the music switched abruptly after a minute into another song to indicate they should switch partners, she gave him a curtsy and stepped away. Sam looked to another woman standing near them, and she stepped forward.

"Uh, Melissa?" he asked, reading off his card.

"Sorry," she said, then turned to ask, "Are you Terri?"

The two began dancing and Sam had to walk around a bit to find Melissa, glancing briefly at the nametags on the front of dresses, trying his best not to look like he was gawking.

"Hey, uh," he said, when he’d found a Melissa, at least.

"Oh good," she said brightly. "We get to dance to rap. That’s easier."

"Great," Sam said.

She stood on tiptoes to be heard over the music, bouncing against him. "So, Sam. How do you like my dress?"

"Uh," he said, looking down at it again. "It’s very sparkly."

She snickered. "Ew, you perv. Eyes up here, I’m not that kind of girl."

"Neither am I," Sam said. "I’m a perfect gentleman. So, hey," he asked, remembering he was here to work, not overcome social failings he may or may not have ever worked on. "Do you know anything about this Jeff guy?"

"Jeff?"

"Yeah, one of the men attending? He has a medium brown mullet and is shorter than I am."

She gave him a look. "There are like a million people here and all of them are shorter than you."

"Oh, right, right."

Sam was two whole heads taller than the sixth woman he danced with, and the crowd parted in such a way that he could see Jody clearly, on the other side of the room, dancing with Jeff. They had no evidence the guy was even involved, so he shouldn’t worry, but it was kind of all they had.

"That guy," he said to his partner, nodding at Jeff. "What do you know about him?"

"He’s a total playboy," she said. "But I’ve only seen him flirting with women. Good luck with that."

"No, I mean, does he seem evil at all?" he said.

She gave him a disapproving look. "I’m here to dance."

Sam looked down at his card when the song ended, and said a distracted thank you to the woman when he saw that, written in clear print on the bottom line, was the name, ‘Alec.’

A jolt went through him when he looked up and around. Sure, he had talked to men during speed-dating, but it hadn’t occurred to him that he’d be dancing with any. It felt too intimate, too close to things he never talked about.

"Sam."

Sam turned and a man almost as tall as he was put a hand on his arm. Sam’s eyes darted to Dean on the other side of the room, then back to the guy. "Oh, um, hi. Alec?"

"Yeah, I saw you during speed dating but we were in a different group," Alec said. "Unfortunately, I might add."

Alec, Sam noticed, had what Dean would call a Disney Prince smile and dark hair that swept to the side to match. 

"So," Sam said, and stepped in to put a hand on Alec’s waist.

Alec put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and one on his neck, moving them slowly with the music. When he spoke next, he put his mouth close to Sam’s ear, breath hot against Sam’s neck. "So tell me about this bear you fought earlier."

Sam held back a laugh. "I heard it was a centaur," he responded in a sultry murmur. "He had great pecs."

Alec laughed and he pulled back to look Sam in the face. "My mistake," he said, shrugging, a glint in his eye. "That’s why I came to ask you directly. I had to hear it for myself."

Sam was suddenly very sorry that the song was going to end.

The way Alec was smiling at him made Sam think he felt the same way. Alec drew back a second later, however, turning to look behind him at Dean.

"Can I cut in?" Dean asked over the music.

"Bro, we’re actually in the middle of a dance," Alec said.

"Did he just ‘bro’ me?" Dean asked Sam. Then smiled tightly and said, "There’s a line, pal," before hauling Sam away by the arm.

"Yes. It’s called a ‘dance card,’" he heard Alec say behind them, but Dean was steering Sam away and through the crowd.

"Dean!" he said, yanking his arm.

Dean didn’t let him go.

"He was right," Sam told him. "We were in the middle of a dance."

"Sorry to ruin your little date, Sammy, but we’ve got a killer to catch."

"Jerk." Sam put as much annoyance as he could into it, but they both knew that Dean would not physically be able to move him unless he allowed himself to be moved.

Dean paid Sam’s annoyance the little attention it deserved.

"Let’s get out of here," he said, steering them out of the noisy ballroom and into the hallway. The dark night, romantic music, and abandoned room lent the moment a certain proprietary quality, like Dean was taking him home from a bar, a dance. Dean’s hand on Sam’s elbow sent a dangerous warmth through him.

When they got back to the room, Sam made a beeline for the laptop, but then sat there looking blankly at the screen. He’d gotten embarrassingly turned on by the idea of Dean dragging him to their room to…do nothing.

"Still thinking about that Disney Prince?" Dean said from where he was undressing by the closet.

Sam grinned. "Ha! That’s totally what I thought when I saw him!"

Dean only grimaced in response, and started undoing the top buttons of his shirt. "Well, now we can say we’ve officially gone speed dating and to an awkward dinner prom. And we didn’t do too bad, either. I got like ten numbers. One lady said that, even though I didn’t seem like long-term material, I’d be a great five-night stand."

Sam looked over as Dean flopped onto one of the beds, legs spread out alluringly. "I can’t believe you took people’s numbers."

"What? I can’t hear you over the sound of my own roaring success."

Sam looked back to the screen. "Never mind."

"Dude, some of those chicks were pretty awesome, though. One of them was an actual firewoman. And another lady could tie four cherry stems with her tongue, she showed me."

For no reason, this sent Sam spiraling into a bad mood. He looked away from where Dean was lounging out and checked his empty email. So what if he didn’t want to think about the chicks Dean might call. And like Dean said, they were on a case. Dean shouldn’t be able to dick around if Sam couldn’t have any fun.

But part of him, the really awesome younger brother side, the one who wanted Dean to get laid, maybe so he’d stop looking entirely jumpable with an unbuttoned shirt lain out in sheets, was feeling benevolent.

He found himself saying, "You know what? If you wanna go follow up on some of those numbers right now, you should go back down there. I got this." He clacked demonstratively at the keyboard. "Don’t let me keep you."

Dean looked at napkins scribbled over with numbers he’d pulled from his pocket, but then put the pile on the bedside table. "Eh, I could do with some honest relaxation. We’re at a mountain hotel. There’s gotta be a hot tub around here somewhere."

Sam stopped pretending to do research. If there was one thing he loved, it was hot tubs. "Uh, yeah," he said. "There’s one on the patio out back."

"Well, what are we waiting for?"

They changed into swim trunks, pulled jeans and shirts on, and trooped back downstairs. Dean gave a whoop when the hot tub was still open and they closed the door quietly behind them like they weren’t allowed to be there.

They stripped down to their trunks quietly, and Sam’s skin burned as he slid into the water. It was steaming, dampening his face and neck. 

"Ah yeah, this is great," Dean said.

They were outside, under an overhang but open to the forest, the frozen landscape blue and shadowed under a tiny moon. 

"This is the life," Dean groaned louder. "Oh yeah."

Dean making sex noises was just a part of Sam’s daily existence, and he ignored him and tipped his head back against the side of the tub. The sound of music from inside was barely audible and after a couple minutes of falling into a warm stupor, Sam had to jerk himself up so he didn’t actually fall asleep.

He cracked his eyes only when he heard the sound of the back door opening.

"Oh, hey guys," said a familiar voice.

"Why if it isn’t Blake the desk guy," Dean said. "Wow, shouldn’t you be working?"

Sam looked over and Blake was unbuttoning his shirt. "I jump in to relax a bit on my break. Mind if I join you?"

When he slid into the water, Sam saw that he had nice abs and a tattoo climbing up his side.

"Is that a dragon?"

"Yep," said Blake. "It was my grandpa's horoscope sign. He was really into that. I got it when he passed away. Looks like you guys have some ink yourselves. Oh, and matching, I see."

"Yeah, we’ve known each other forever," Dean said. He’d moved over closer to Sam’s side so that Blake could get in too without it being awkward, and now he slung his arm along the back of the tub and subsequently around Sam’s shoulders. Sam could feel the water dripping onto his neck.

"That’s cool," Blake said. "I have some buddies I’ve known for forever, but we always get matching black eyes, not tattoos."

Blake was, as Sam had initially suspected, awesome. They talked for awhile, and he left when his break ended, but Dean left his arm around Sam’s shoulders. 

"Glad he’s gone," Dean said. "Nothing wrong with being a little social, but that guy wants something he can’t have."

"Stop being a dick, Dean," Sam said, and carefully avoided reading into anything, for his own sanity. Dean was just a weirdo who didn’t understand what it sounded like he was saying half the time.

"I’m serious," Dean said, and when he let his hand fall to grip Sam’s shoulder, Sam took in a shallow breath.

"Um," Sam said.

Dean’s hand slid down his arm, feeling his bicep. Sam hazarded a glance over and saw that Dean was watching him, watching his mouth, like he was waiting for Sam to say something or do something, Sam wasn’t sure what.

He was almost relieved when the tension was broken by a scream that rang from inside.

Dean sent him a regretful look and Sam took it back. Here he was, indulging in teenage fantasies when people could bed dying.

They grabbed towels and toed on their shoes and sprinted through the hotel. Staff were yelling for the crowd to calm down, as everyone shoved and stared unhappily at a man and a woman who were crumpled on the ballroom floor looking pale and weak.

"What happened?" Sam demanded of the man nearest them.

"They both just collapsed," the man said, then looked at Sam’s bare chest. "Is this the next activity?"

Sam tugged his towel more securely around his body and glared, before looking to Dean. "So, this is happening," he said.

"We need to have a serious tit ah tat."

Sam stared at him. "You mean tête-à-tête?"

"Lives are at stake, Sammy. We need to find Jody. But first thing's first."

Dean scanned the crowd then set off purposefully. Sam followed and caught up when Dean cleared his throat loudly at a man.

"Hey, you," Dean said. "Jeff, right?"

Jeff was better-looking up close. The tan looked fake but Sam could admit, he did have a good ass.

Dean cut to the chase. "You have anything to do with the sudden illnesses? You have something out for these people, Jeff? What did they ever do to you?"

"Uh, no?" Jeff said.

"What are you doing here?" Dean barked.

"Right here? I’m a doctor. I performed CPR on the man. Because he keeled over and wasn’t breathing."

"So you had something to do with this, is what you’re saying?"

"Yes. I saved his life." Jeff took a step back. "Can I go now?"

Sam nodded. "Yes, you may go."

The couple were taken to the sunroom and lain down on couches. Someone called the an ambulance and the singles milled around with drinks still in hand. 

Jody found Sam and Dean in the crowd. "Ok, what the hell is going on here?" she asked.

"Death is what’s going on here," said Harry, appearing at Sam’s elbow.

"Whoa, you guys clean up nice," Dean said.

Ed sighed. "Eyes on the case, douchesnozzle. We’ve got three vics and a whole lotta zip."

"No evidence," Harry clarified. "Next order of business: get some. Get some evidence."

"How do you propose to do that?" Jody asked. "We have nothing connecting the vics, other than they all attended this event."

"Hang on," said Harry. "Those two were just kissing, right?"

"Yeah, adults do that," Dean said.

Harry widened his eyes. "No, they were kissing. That’s the key."

Ed nodded slowly. "Deadly makeouts."

Jody waved her hands in front of her. "Hey, kids. Start making sense."

"Well," said Harry. "All the victims have kissed someone before getting sick."

"That blows," Ed breathed.

"This isn’t a case of mono," Dean said.

Jody was nodding too, though. "So like, a serial killer? A monster that preys on people in love?"

Sam frowned. "That could make sense. But if it was a monster, it would be something that could blend in."

"Something that could look human," said Dean.

"There are a lot of people here. It could be anyone."

They all looked around the crowded room, at all the people chatting and slowly leaving to rooms or on midnight strolls.

Ed shook his head sadly. "To think, all this death because some monster never learned to love. It’s so sad. Love is, like, a basic American right."

"Yeah," Jody sighed.

Dean glanced between them. "What, for real?"

"Love is beautiful thing," Ed told him. "I hope you find that some day."

Dean stood straighter and Sam put a hand on his shoulder to stop him before he got worked up about nothing. "Ok, has anyone noticed anyone suspicious?"

"It’s either that Jeff guy—"

"He’s nice," Jody pointed out. "And he’s a doctor."

"Yeah," Dean sneered. "We’ve heard. Although I’m not buying it."

Jody gave him her mom face.

"Ok, ok," Dean backtracked. "So if it’s not him, it’s Sam’s little boyfriend, the guy at the desk—"

Sam frowned at him. "Blake hasn’t done anything except—"

"—blatantly try to manipulate people with his charm and good looks?"

"—be a nice and hospitable hotel guy, Dean. Stop being a dick."

"Well, the only other thing that’s been in any way suspicious was that pomegranate walnut stew everyone talked about today."

"I heard that was terrible," Jody said.

"But terrible enough to kill? We really gonna go with a food over a dude who is too friendly and takes inappropriate swims with his guests?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Just because we infringed on his hot tub time—"

"You’ve been romancing the killer?" Ed asked in tones of great censure.

"I haven’t been romancing anybody," Sam said. "You know what, I don’t have to defend myself. We need to figure out the pattern between the victims and we can go from there."

They all looked at each other for a long minute. Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth, thinking. 

"Ok," he said. "Something that lands people in the hospital, to die within three or four days."

Jody shook her head. "But something that only happens every year around Christmas. Sorry to say, boys, but that sounds like some serial killer with a pattern."

Sam frowned. There was a wisp of an idea just out of reach, and it felt important. He looked out the window, then around the room. "Or wait," he said. "It could be an airborne toxin. Like, a gas or something. And Harry was right, all three victims were seen kissing each other just before falling ill."

"What, we’re thinking perfume here? Anthrax?"

"Maybe it’s something about the victims. Bad kissers? Virgins?"

"Virgins? No way," Dean scoffed.

"Why not? It’s definitely been virgins before."

"You know what?" Jody said. "This sounds like something we should sleep on. Everyone else is heading to bed, nothing’s going to happen for the next six hours. We’ll regroup in the morning when everything's a little clearer."

The Ghostfacers and Jody traipsed back to their respective rooms but Dean stopped Sam before they could follow.

"Let’s just...stay here for a second."

Sam idled by the door with his hands in his pockets, watching Dean look out each of the windows. The room had almost entirely emptied out, just them and a few stragglers to speak of. 

"Tell me again why we’re not heading up to bed?" he said, after Dean had made no move to do anything.

"This is nice," Dean said in lieu of an answer.

"What, the illnesses?" Sam asked. "The weird, possibly haunted or cursed hotel?"

Dean ignored this. "Nah, the, you know, dressing up a little, spending some time together."

"Dean, we always spend time together."

Dean gave Sam a look like Sam was the one being a pain in the ass, and Sam scowled back. He wasn’t sure what he was annoyed about, mainly just annoyed Dean was annoyed. Dean idled a little more by the window and then walked over to stand near Sam in the doorway. 

Sam stood up straighter, however, when Dean stepped closer, right up in his space. "Dean?" he asked, voice coming out uncertain.

"I mean, it’s been really good. And you’ve been stupid enough to stand right under the mistletoe," Dean said and glanced up smugly.

Sam looked up, too, and saw that yes, he’d unknowingly positioned himself under a clump of mistletoe. He groaned, all at once understanding that Dean had just been winding him up, and the sex vibes he was getting off Dean were a joke.

"Haha, very funny," Sam said, but then faltered when Dean smiled all self-deprecating.

"On your quiz," Dean said, looking past his shoulder for a second. "You marked down you wanted more romance out of a relationship. And I thought, well, you know. Nothing more cheesy than this."

Sam didn’t know if Dean was serious now or was pulling his leg. There was no way he could be serious. But Sam’s face went hot anyway, and his stomach dropped. He flicked his eyes to Dean’s mouth and then away, flashing to how they must look, just another couple under the mistletoe, inches from dipping in close to kiss one another.

"Sam," Dean said, after Sam had internally freaked out for a considerable period of time.

It felt like an out of body experience, Sam watching, frozen, as Dean leaned fractionally closer, putting a hand over Sam’s heart and moving in to bring their mouths together in a kiss. A ki—

"Don’t!" Sam shouted, shoving Dean away. He jumped out from under the doorframe— from under the mistletoe. The mistletoe that was glowing. Sam stared at it in horror as he took another step back.

"Dude!" Dean said, still standing where he’d been pressed up against Sam. He rubbed his hand over his mouth, face drained of color. In fact, he looked like he was about to be sick.

Sam shook his head, because there was no time to think about the implications of anything right now.

"Can plants be cursed?" he asked tentatively, eyes still glued to the mistletoe.

Dean looked shocked, like he was either about to run or be seriously pissed.

"Think about it," Sam continued. "If not poisoned, cursed maybe?"

"I’ve gotta be honest with you, I’m at a loss to see how poisoned plants relate to—" Dean cut off. He apparently couldn’t say it, which, well, Sam couldn’t blame him. It was so scary, and he saw then that Dean meant it. If he were Dean, he wouldn’t be able to say it either. 

Sam cleared his throat. "Uh, I mean, the case. Because there’s a big obvious factor that we’re overlooking."

He glanced up, and Dean slowly tipped his head up as well. Sam could see the moment it clicked.

"Holy shit," Dean agreed and came to stand next to Sam to get a better view.

"We need to get rid of this. Not to mention all the rest strung up all over the place," Sam said.

They solemnly observed the room in an entirely new light, sprigs of mistletoe hanging innocuously over every window and in all the doorways.

"It’s no wonder this happens every holiday season," Sam said. "Because this is only put up during the holidays."

"Well I’ll be damned," Dean said. "Love doesn’t conquer all." He straightened, suddenly all business. "We’ve got to find out where they got that mistletoe. That doesn’t work, we’ll get Jody to flash the badge and cancel this weekend, get people out of here."

"Whoever’s working the front desk will know where they got it," Sam said. "Let’s go."

When they rounded the corner into the lobby, Blake was leaning on his elbows, looking at his phone.

"You’re gonna have to do the talking," Dean muttered, and shoved Sam forward with a hand to the lower back.

"Oh," said Blake, looking up. "Hey again, guys. Crazy night, huh?"

Sam smiled. "Hey, we were just, um, wondering, where did you get the mistletoe that’s hung up everywhere?"

Blake took this in stride, like it was a normal thing to ask someone in the middle of the night. "The owner harvested it from the forest. Why?"

"Can you show us where?"

"It’s not exactly light out," Blake said. "But I can tell you where and you can go out in the morning. It’s actually pretty close. We get it all from this one big tree along the hiking trail. Seriously, the tree’s pretty weird-looking, you can’t really miss it."

Dean met Sam’s eyes. "Is it an ugly mother with lumps all over it? Like that thing in Fern Gully?"

Blake’s brown furrowed, then he snapped in recognition. "Yeah, that’s the one."

"Thanks," Dean said.

"Why, you need some more of it?" He winked.

"Exactly the opposite," Dean muttered.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing," Sam said. "You have a good night."

They returned to the sunroom and Sam looked sadly at the back door.

"We have to do this now, don’t we?" he asked, feeling suddenly very disappointed in life. A second ago Dean was going to kiss him, and now it looked like they had to walk out into the forest at night in the dead of winter.

"Yeah, I think so," Dean said. "But if it helps, we’ll probably get to use a chainsaw."

"It does not help," Sam told him, and followed him out.

 

 

 

Once Sam’s hands went too cold to properly feel them, the frozen air wasn’t all that bad. They found lanterns in a closet and hiked out to the tree, which was even uglier up close. Lit by the lanterns, which Sam hung from nearby branches, the tree’s oozing hollows and bumpy limbs looked ghastly and shadowed. It had mistletoe crawling through its spindly branches. 

Sam tilted his head, considering it. "All that mistletoe up there...if it’s growing on the tree, it has to be the tree, right?"

"In my experience, no tree looks this scary without being actually scary," Dean said.

Sam nodded. "Ok so, I mean...do we cut it down?"

"We’re going to need some massive power tools."

"Or maybe we could burn it?" Sam said skeptically.

Dean walked a semi-circle around the tree, boots crunching softly in the snow. "I mean, how do you torch a tree? It’s half-frozen and I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to get anywhere close after—"

"Yeah. It’s probably going to kill us or something."

"What do you say we just have the nature service take care of it? We could say it’s covered with some horrible fungi or something. Or bugs!"

"Call in a hazard?" Sam thought about it and then slowly nodded. But then he shook his head. "We can’t put all those lives at risk."

"You’re right. My brain is frozen out here, that should have been obvious. Hm. I mean, are we even sure it’s the tree?"

"Three people have fallen desperately ill," Sam said. "And you saw the mistletoe glowing. That definitely wasn’t natural."

"Ok, fine."

Dean paced the trail in thought while Sam rubbed his hands together and blew into them, and looked up at the tree. Nature was a fucked up thing.

"Ok, new plan," he said. "Go back and get a few hours' sleep, then have Jody call forest services in the morning and say her people are taking care of a tree with an infestation. That provides an excuse for the noise and smoke when we cut it down and use it as firewood."

"This is gonna suck," said Dean. Sam absolutely agreed.

 

 

 

 

"It has been literally seconds since I lay down," Dean said as he got up to answer the room door the next morning. Sam had been woken by the knocking, too. "This better be good."

"Hey guys. What’d we miss?" said Harry, far too chirpy for the hour. Then his eyes widened as he took in Dean’s 6AM shadow and Sam lying face flat into the pillow.

"Too early?" Ed asked, sticking his head in the door.

Dean looked back over to Sam.

"So, we found out what the culprit was," Sam called over. "And it wasn’t the soup. You know all that mistletoe in the lobby? Dean, explain."

Ed and Harry listened with horror dawning over their faces as Dean told them what happened, omitting how exactly the mistletoe had started glowing.

"Holy shit," Ed said. "There’s so much of it. Everywhere. Not to mention it’s a serious blow to Christmas and true love."

Dean nodded. "That’s what I said."

Harry, who had been looking more and more resolved, said, "Ok, so what can we do?"

"You’re going to find some trash bags, put on gloves, take down all that mistletoe somewhere out into the snow, set it all on fire, and run."

"Or bury it," Sam muttered.

Dean jabbed his thumb over his shoulder to Sam. "Yeah, or that. It’s up to you."

"No one will think it’s weird because we look like we work here," Ed said slowly. "Excellent."

"Once again, our disguises come in handy," said Harry. This, apparently, merited high-fives, because Dean finally had to interrupt.

"Daylight’s burning," he said.

Harry nodded. "We’re on it. But hey, what’re you guys going to do?"

Dean looked back to Sam, then grinned a vindictive tree-hating grin. "We’re going to make that thing into a big pile of firewood."

"Godspeed," said Harry, and they strode off down the hall.

"You know," Dean said, watching them go. "They’re not half bad."

"Still pretty obnoxious," Sam said into the pillow. "But with some real spunk. Ok. Time to get up?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah. Sorry. Sleep is for the dead."

"And the lucky," Sam said, hauling himself up. "Ok, stealing a ton of kerosene and trying to burn a green, wet pile of tree limbs. We can do this."

 

 

 

It took twenty minutes to jimmy the lock on the groundskeeper’s shed and then five more to realize that there was only one rusty chainsaw in the corner. It would have to do.

Hiking out at dawn wasn’t so bad. Sam tried to focus on the positive, the fact that the case was almost over and how beautiful each dying leaf was crystalized with frost. When they reached the tree, it looked squat and sad, nothing like the monster it had seemed the night before.

"Are we sure about this?" Dean asked. "Because this could be a whole lot of work for nothing."

"You know it’s the mistletoe," Sam said.

Dean crossed his arms across his chest. "But what if it isn’t this mistletoe? We gonna take that guy at the desk’s say-so? Maybe it was him all along."

"For the last time," said Sam. "His name is Blake and he’s a random dude who probably hadn’t even been born yet when Dad was here last time. There is no way he’s in on it."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean muttered. "All I’m saying is we should, you know, double-check." Then he shot Sam an unreadable look that Sam barely caught and didn’t know what to do with. It was calculating, almost.

"Uh, what?" Sam asked.

Dean took a step toward him and looked up to one of the scraggly patches of mistletoe in the far branches.

"Ha, very funny," said Sam.

"For the safety of all," Dean tried and came closer. His feet crunched softly as he got near, and Sam watched him like a deer in the headlights of a very alluring truck.

"You look like the guy from Texas Chainsaw Massacre," Sam tried, nodding to the saw dangling out of Dean’s hand.

"If that’s what turns you on," Dean said softly, and took Sam’s face in his hands.

Sam would laugh but also they were doing a very important test to make sure this was, in fact, the correct mistletoe, and to do that necessitated Sam moving in closer so Dean’s body was pressed all up against his own, and slipping a hand into Dean’s back pocket.

Dean’s licked his lips and Sam tracked the movement, saw exactly when Dean’s eyelashes fluttered closed a bit, felt Dean tug him down a fraction of an inch and Sam went with it.

Dean was actually going to do it, Sam thought, head swimming.

Dean was actually going to—

Sam stepped back and shoved him away, with some force. He was breathing hard, glaring. "Dude, this is freaking cursed mistletoe. Don’t fucking kiss me under it."

Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his neck sheepishly. "Oh, right."

Sam stamped away before Dean could get any other stupid ideas that would threaten their lives. "Just cut the thing down already. Jesus."

"This is gonna suck," said Dean. But when he pulled the string and the scream of the chainsaw ripped through the cold air, he laughed like a maniac. "Never mind," he said. "This is really great. You just sit your pretty ass down Sammy, and let the men do the work."

"Who?" Sam asked, plopping down to do some brooding on a frozen log, but Dean couldn’t hear him over the noise.

It took seven and a half hours. It was a good thing they’d also taken gloves and goggles from the shed because cutting down trees had been glorified and looked quick in movies, but there was nothing good about it and Sam never wanted to do it again.

"This is about the shittiest jobs we’ve ever worked," Dean yelled at some point over the whir of the saw.

Sam pressed his temple with the heel of one hand. "There’s always gonna be the low-point I guess."

"Worse and worse." Dean cut a bit of trunk away violently. "My hands went numb two hours ago."

They finished up by two and then spent over an hour and a half trying to get the damn wood to burn.

"I don’t understand," Sam said. "It’s lighter fluid. So it should light!"

Huge plumes of smoke billowed up from the damp, smelly mass of charred tree, and eventually it smoldered down to a pile of mostly nothing. And with it, the remains of the mistletoe.

"Good riddance," Sam said when they decided the tree had burned as much as it was going to. "Come on."

It was mid-afternoon. Even though it was a nice day, sunny, and they’d been standing by open flames for the last while, Sam’s face was raw with cold. His shirt smelled like kerosene and smoke and his feet were wet in his boots. Despite all that, though, when he looked over to Dean silently tramping next to him, he felt a stirring of happiness. Dean had almost kissed him, he thought. Twice. Nevermind that Sam had shoved him away to save their lives and the lives of other people, but Dean had wanted to. There would probably be horrible fallout, but for the rest of the hike back, Sam going to let himself feel good about it.

Dean sent Sam an uncomfortable look, which grew more weirded out when Sam smiled at him. As an obvious ploy to escape the situation, Dean pulled out his phone and called the hospital to check on the victims. And lo and behold, the victims had been ‘suddenly and totally cured of all symptoms.’

"They better be," Dean grumped after he’d hung up. Then he turned on Sam. "We are never doing that again."

Sam held his hands up in front of him. "What? You think I liked it? I’m totally with you."

"All I know is, you look far too happy," Dean said. "I need a drink."

 

 

 

 

"Oh thank god, someone normal," Dean said when they got inside, falling onto the barstool next to Jody. Ed was serving drinks to the dozen people milling around, and Harry was reading a comic book at the end of the bar with what looked like a Shirly Temple at his elbow.

"You missed closing ceremony," Jody said. She looked up. "Whoa, you smell like hell."

Sam sat in the stool next to Dean, more tired than he remembered being in a long time. "Did you get through to forest services?" he asked. "Because we made a lot of noise."

"Yes, I did. I called the fire department and forest services to let them know we had an incident and to disregard the plume of smoke. The lady I talked to seemed hesitant at first, but I gotcha."

"Well good. How’s the bar treating you?" Dean asked.

Jody shrugged. "Stragglers-only, it looks like." Sam noticed she was stirring the ice in her whiskey with a supremely dejected air. "Most guests have gone home. A lot of them in couples."

"Sorry."

Right on time, Ed wiped down the counter in front of them with a flourish, and asked, "Drinks?"

"Beer," Dean said immediately. "Two of them. And french fries."

"Sorry, kitchen’s closed. But I have leftover muffins."

"You made those?" Jody asked.

"Yeah. It’s my mom’s recipe." He popped the caps off two beers and handed them the bottles before heading down to arrange some olives.

Sam looked over to Harry. "Hey, thanks for your help. You guys did good."

Harry nodded calmly. "Doing good is our secondary motto. It’s no big thing."

"You know, what I don’t get is, why did Jeff not get sick?"

Jody frowned. "Why would he get sick?"

"Well, Cindy?"

"He didn’t kiss her," Jody said. "That was a rumor. She kissed the dude in the other couple. Poor guy used the mistletoe twice as a line I guess. Yeah, Jeff was only into me, as far as I know."

"Jody, you sly fox," Dean said. "So where’s he now? Calling you guys a taxi?"

She slumped a little on the stool. "Oh, he wasn’t interested after you threatened his life."

Sam winced. "Jody, we are really, really sorry about that." Maybe they had gone a little overboard.

"Nah, don’t worry. I shouldn’t date civilians, anyway." She pulled a cherry off the stem with her teeth. "Although he did have a good car and a fancy condo. And he was a doctor. That would have been nice. Someone nice with a strong sense of purpose." She sighed. "Anyway, ancient, cursed tree. Dangerous mistletoe. Good work, team."

Ed passed her another drink. "On the house," he said.

"Thanks. Oh, before I forget, we got our tests back." She put two folded sheets of paper in front of them. "I know it doesn’t mean much to you, maybe, but here they are."

"Thanks," Sam said.

"Well, I better get going," she said, standing to sling her jacket over one shoulder. "This was, as always, quite eventful."

"You have a good one, Jody. See you around."

"It was a pleasure meeting you, ma’am," Ed said, filling a pint glass for a guy down the bar.

She paused. "You keep calling me ma’am. You angling for a tip or something?"

"Nope, I just hope you have a good day."

Jody jerked her chin to the door. "Let’s get going."

Ed froze, a beer pouring out into the cup and overflowing. "Huh?"

"Really?" asked Dean. "Him?"

She grinned. "What, you didn’t think I was leaving alone, did you? And he’s cute, don’t you think?’

Dean looked almost as distressed as Ed did.

"Hey, barkeep," said Jody. "You ready or what?"

Ed ducked under the bar to come stand next to her. He stripped off the apron and shoved it into Sam’s hands. "I’m ready. Yes." 

Jody shrugged on her jacket. Ed’s eyes widened and Jody looked down as if noticing the gold star badge on her jacket front for the first time.

"Oh yeah, I’m a sheriff. You got anything you need to tell me before we head out?"

"Uh," Ed stuttered. "No sir— I mean, ma’am. I mean—"

When they’d left, Dean looked at Sam and Sam busted up laughing. Harry shook his head and said, "That was weird. I’m gonna go back to bed. See ya later, facerhaters."

Sam laughed harder and rubbed tears out of his eyes.

"That is not funny," said Dean. "We just witnessed a crime against nature."

"Nature’s not that great," Sam said.

"I hate trees," Dean said with a passion.

Sam stood. "Come on, let’s head out. Oh, wait." He unfolded their Dream Quiz results onto the bar. There was a list of names with compatibility percentages next to them.

"Oh look," said Dean, running his finger down the list. "Jody and I are only 40% match. You know? Somehow I would have thought higher."

"She and I are 70%," Sam said and snickered when Dean elbowed him.

They saw the 100% at the same time. Sam’s eyes catching Dean’s name, Dean’s finger hovering over Sam’s.

"One-hundred percent soulmates," Dean read out, then choked on air.

"Um," Sam said, and felt torn between laughing and heading for the hills.

When he’d managed to breathe again, Dean looked put out, face going red and shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Well, whatever," he said, taking the paper out of Sam’s hands and folding it up into his pocket. "Stupid test. Didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know. Told you these were useless."

"Oh, right, totally," Sam said carefully.

Their shoulders brushed as they left the hotel. Sam got into his side of the car and waited for Dean to slide into his and closed before saying anything.

"Well," Dean said, hands gripping the wheel tight. They looked out at the snowy trees and dark road. "Where to?"

"General store," Sam said decisively. "I saw one down the mountain."

"What, you need some Pop Tarts or something?"

"Don’t they sell mistletoe down there?" Sam asked seriously. "Like, the non-cursed kind? I just kind of need some because there’s this guy who can’t get the balls to—"

Dean cut Sam off with a hand on his knee. Sam couldn't keep the smile off his face any longer. Dean leaned over and kissed him.


End file.
